


All The Best Therapists Have Four Legs

by Pollydoodles



Series: The Pizza Dog Chronicles [8]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 04:44:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5954104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pollydoodles/pseuds/Pollydoodles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky wandered into the kitchen and stopped dead. </p><p>He knew it was a kitchen and that at least was something. However, he recognised nothing else about it. Is this my kitchen? Whose kitchen is it? Should I be here?  He could feel his heart rate start to rise and with it beads of sweat form on his forehead. Bucky shook his head and tried to grasp onto the last memory he could find. </p><p>Something about … something about … a man? A blond man? He couldn’t focus on the face properly and he could feel his head start to swim. He leaned forward and grabbed at the granite countertop to steady himself. He closed his eyes, squeezed them tight and fought against the rising panic in his chest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All The Best Therapists Have Four Legs

Bucky wandered into the kitchen and stopped dead. 

He knew it was a kitchen and that at least was something. However, he recognised nothing else about it. Is this my kitchen? Whose kitchen is it? Should I be here? He could feel his heart rate start to rise and with it beads of sweat form on his forehead. Bucky shook his head and tried to grasp onto the last memory he could find. 

Something about … something about … a man? A blond man? He couldn’t focus on the face properly and he could feel his head start to swim. He leaned forward and grabbed at the granite countertop to steady himself. He closed his eyes, squeezed them tight and fought against the rising panic in his chest. 

It gripped at him, making his heart feel tight. The sweat was now rolling down his face, his breathing hard and fast. He clutched at the countertop and heard it crack under the pressure of his left hand. Shaking, he brought the hand towards his face and saw the flash of metal. Metal? Who has a metal hand? I … Have a metal hand? What is this? 

Blinking away tears that threatened to spill over his cheeks and join the sweat which was leaving salty tracks on his face already, he sank to his knees and put his palms flat on the tiled floor. Hunched over, he panted heavily, trying and failing to get a grip on his body. The room swam in front of his eyes and he choked down the urge to vomit. 

Leaning forward, he pressed his forehead to the cool tiles and forced himself into deep breaths.

Remember, James, remember. 

James? The name echoed around his head but it didn’t feel right, didn’t fit somehow. Do I not even know my goddamned name? Is this how it is? He pushed himself back so that he was sitting on bended knee, and leaned back until his back was resting against the solid façade of the kitchen island, the island he had no memory of ever seeing before. 

He brought an unsteady hand to his face, and wiped away hot sweat from his cheekbones. It was mixed with tears but he tried to ignore that. His heart was still racing, thumping painfully against the inside of his chest, squeezing hard against his ribcage so that he wondered if this was more than a panic attack, whether this was cardiac arrest and he was about to die on the floor of this strange place. 

He squeezed his eyes tight shut again, and clenched his fists at his sides so hard it hurt. The pain grounded him slightly, gave him something else to focus on outside of the rising tide of panic that threatened to overwhelm him entirely. That was, in fact, currently overwhelming his nervous systems, his senses and shortly about to overtake his brain. 

Focus, Bucky, focus.

Bucky. That felt better. He still couldn’t work out where his brain had found it, what it meant, but it had a familiar taste in his mouth as he sounded it out to himself silently, eyes still shut and his breathing hard in his nose. Bucky. Bucky. Bucky. He repeated it to himself like mantra, not understanding why it felt important but hanging on blindly to the fact that it did. 

Suddenly something cold and wet forced its way between his chin and his chest, and Bucky’s eyes fluttered open. In front of him sat a yellow Labrador, deep brown eyes fixed upon his face, looking up at him quizzically. Where the hell did you come from? His tired mind couldn’t focus on the question. Bucky tried to push the dog away, hand flat against its broad barrel chest but it kept coming regardless. 

Bucky slid downwards, his back still flat against the island but legs now akimbo in front of him. He gulped at the air frantically, feeling like a drowning man, and the dog promptly plopped itself on his lap and leaned heavily into his chest. Without knowing why, Bucky found his fingers winding their way into the dog’s long fur, twisting and tugging and pulling the dog closer into his chest. The dog didn’t seem to mind, in fact rolled its head up and tucked his cold nose against Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky held on tight to the dog and closed his eyes again. He grasped at the Labrador like a lifesaver, as though someone had thrown him a float and it was thing only thing keeping him above water. His hands continued to massage into the dogs’ side, working through knots and tangles in its fur, and he tried to focus on that instead of his breathing. 

He dropped his head into the dog, hugging it further into him. The dog responded with a lick to the side of his face, washing away the salty mix of sweat and tears that stained his cheek. Despite himself, Bucky choked out a low laugh and the dog did it again, this time swiping up his nose and onto his forehead, nearly into his hairline. Bucky laughed but it turned into a hacking sob and he clutched at the dog again. 

He brought his leg up, bringing his knee closer to his face and hugged his left arm around the dog as he hung onto his raised leg. The dog didn’t seem to mind being caged into Bucky’s body and panted steadily into the man’s face, serious brown eyes gazing up at him. 

“Do I even know you?” Bucky mumbled, his lips against the dog’s ear. Despite himself, he could feel his breathing starting to slow, become steadier. 

He rubbed at his forehead and flashes of memories raced across his brain. The same man again, laughing, smiling, then bloodied and bruised. A hand on his shoulder, a grin in his direction. Steve. Steve, yes Steve. Bucky shook his head slightly as his mind overloaded with images rushing to take precedence all at once. It was almost as overwhelming as searching his head and coming up blank. 

A petite brunette. Cake. Movies. Popcorn. Cornflakes. Lots of pizza. Laughter. A feisty redhead. More laughter. Guns. Blood. Explosions. 

Bucky thumped his temple with his right hand, the memories coming too thick, too fast. He rolled his head back against the island and breathed deeply, trying to slow the pictures, trying to put names to them. Darcy. Darcy was important. She featured a lot in the memories. Thinking of her brought strong feelings, like coming home. He got the same sense when the blond man – Steve – appeared. Others came and went, and suddenly he knew where he was. 

The tower. Avengers tower. The kitchen – the common room. He’d been here many times before. He lived here. 

The dog whined and plonked a large paw down on Bucky’s thigh. He let his head drop forward, and a small smile edged across his face as he regarded the dog. He ruffled the labrador’s ears and the dog cocked his head to look back up at Bucky, all lop-sided and one ear flopping across his face as he did so. 

“Pizza dog.” The dog barked enthusiastically and licked him again, this time right across the mouth. Bucky gagged but laughed and drew the back of his hand across his mouth in response, wiping away slobber from his dimples. 

“You okay, Buck?” The dark haired man looked up from the floor and saw Steve looking back down at him, concern etched across his chiselled features. 

“S’fine.” He grunted in response, unwilling and, he felt, probably unable to articulate properly what had just passed. His breathing was still slightly hitched and he knew he must look crumpled. He guessed that being sprawled across the kitchen floor was not considered normal behaviour. 

Steve stared down at him, but opted not to push it. He had to trust that Bucky would let him know when he needed him, if he needed him. Instead, he offered a hand to his friend, who took it, and pulled him to his feet. Blue eyes met blue eyes, and he could feel the question in his own, even if he didn’t say it. Bucky looked back at him and nodded, just slightly. 

Steve felt Lucky’s cold nose nudging at his hand, looked down and patted the dog’s head quickly. 

“Been hanging out with Lucky again, huh?” he asked, and Bucky threw him a grin, a genuine smile that lit up his face and pushed Steve right back into the 1930s. Before the serum, before the war, before anything except just the simple set up of him and his best pal navigating Brooklyn together. 

“C’mere.” He said, overcome with memories of a carefree Bucky, and pulled the other man into a deep hug. Bucky made a surprised noise against his chest but then clapped his arm around Steve’s shoulders as well. “I’m always here for you pal. You know that.” Steve said lowly, and he felt Bucky’s head nod against him before the other man pulled back and ran a hand through unruly dark hair. 

“You ever gonna get that cut, Buck?” 

Bucky wrinkled his nose and shrugged his shoulders. 

“Darcy likes it.”  
Steve felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth as he heard his friend’s response. 

“Well I guess that’s as good a reason as any to keep it.” 

He didn’t know quite what there was between Bucky and Darcy, he was fairly sure that they didn’t really know either, but he knew that she was fond of his friend. On paper their friendship shouldn’t work; Darcy was all modern era, a bundle of slang and pop-culture references wrapped around a computer whizz who translated Dr Foster’s scientific discoveries into what she called ‘reg-speak’. Bucky was, despite best efforts, still a broken toy they were trying their hardest to fix up. 

Yet somehow, she was good for him. She didn’t push him, or expect more of him than he could give, she didn’t get impatient with him. And in return Bucky followed her like a puppy, not always understanding what she was saying, or indeed what she was doing, but sticking close to her nonetheless. 

And then there was the dog. He couldn’t forget the dog. 

“Hey big guys. Coffee?” 

Steve looked down to find Darcy gazing back up at him. 

“Jane’s on the verge of some crazy breakthrough, but she’s not there just yet so I’ve been sent in search of superior coffee,” She chattered as she manoeuvred Bucky into a bar stool at the kitchen island. “The stuff in the lab is …” She paused, stretching for filters just beyond her reach in the cupboard, and Steve obliged by reaching past her and grabbing them down. “Thanks – at least part motor oil, and probably part rocket fuel judging by Stark’s usual behaviour after half a pot. So, I’m stealing this stuff instead. You want in?” 

She asked the question but had already prepared three mugs. Bucky’s had four heaped spoonfuls of sugar – despite Steve’s best efforts, he couldn’t break him of that habit – and into Steve’s she poured almond milk. Topping them up with thick black coffee and stirring quickly before sliding two over towards the boys, Darcy smiled brightly. 

“You guys okay?” She asked, her eyes sweeping over them properly for the first time. 

Steve looked over at Bucky whose attention had dropped back to the dog, the yellow Labrador leaning happily against Bucky’s thigh and his head resting gently in Bucky’s lap, no doubt hoping for the last dribble of coffee in the mug when the man was finished.

Steve found a genuine smile creeping across his face. “Yeah, Darce. We’re good.”


End file.
